


Stan knows best

by Ragno



Category: IT - Stephen King
Genre: Adult Losers Club (IT), Canonical Character Death, Emotional Hurt, M/M, Post-Canon Fix-It, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, but not really
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-22
Updated: 2019-09-22
Packaged: 2020-10-26 05:53:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,576
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20737277
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ragno/pseuds/Ragno
Summary: He doesn’t even know why he came in the first place, some sense of honor or some equally stupid bullshit. Fuck honor. Cemeteries are full of honorable people. Yeah, he made an oath and all that, but he also swore a million times he would never end up looking like his dad and look at him now. Children’s wishes not often become real.





	Stan knows best

**Author's Note:**

> So I tried to write some kind of fix-it fic. I don't think I succeeded.

The thing with Richie was he was already fed up with his daily life bullshit to deal with anything that was going on at that hellhole called Derry. He was a successful comedian, yes, but he also had the most depressing life out of the stage. That’s why he mostly enjoying being on stage, the same reason why he went on picking fights when he was a kid: 1, he didn’t know when to shut up, and 2, when somebody else is talking, laughing, calling him names, punching him, he can’t think, he doesn’t need to. The Bower’s gang laughing at him was pretty much the same as his audience laughing with him, they were loud enough for Richie to stop thinking. Also, well, being a comedian made money. It made lots of money sometimes. Money can buy alcohol. It can even buy cocaine, sometimes, when Richie was feeling especially tired of his life.

What does Derry have to offer? Is anyone going to thank him, applaud him, _pay him _for fighting against a fucking monstery thing he doesn’t even remember that well? And yeah, he likes to joke about dying as soon as possible, but he’d like a peaceful death, thank you very much, like people who die in their sleep, or people who die fucking. Those are the real heroes. Being ripped apart by a monster? Not so nice.

He doesn’t even know why he came in the first place, some sense of honor or some equally stupid bullshit. Fuck honor. Cemeteries are full of honorable people. Yeah, he made an oath and all that, but he also swore a million times he would never end up looking like his dad and look at him now. Children’s wishes not often become real.

So what? Beverly said they would die anyway if they leave, if they don’t defeat It again, but what makes them think they won’t get killed fighting It anyway? Also, they already defeated It once and here it is again the motherfucker. What tells them this time they’ll succeed? So many questions, so little time to waste. He’s leaving. He’s not up to deal with monsters. A fucking eye came out of a cookie in front of him and that already filled his weirdness quota for the rest of the next 27 years. If he really needs to die no matter what he’ll take the Stanley road, but there’s no way he’s eaten alive or something worse.

“Let’s go, Eddie!” Richie called once again and right away he heard the heavy luggage bumping down stairs, Eddie looking at him, nodding frantically, like he would go anywhere just if it meant they would get out of there.

It felt irrational, walking away from his friends without even hearing a word. It felt like he was betraying them, but then again, he just met the fuckers like hours ago! He didn’t even remember them that much, at all, since Mike decided he’d like for them to be superheroes. Call the fucking Avengers, Mike. Do I look like Ironman to you?

Richie walked to his car, fast, pressing the button on the key and hearing the ‘beep-beep’, like his own car was telling him to shut the fuck up. Damn, so many years, so many years without hearing that phrase and it still worked the same way, it still made him feel the same. Trashmouth Tozier, Jesus Christ, so that’s where that nickname came from.

He only realized he was holding his breath when he sat on his car and finally _breathed_. Richie closed his eyes. Crazy. This was all crazy. He grabbed the steering wheel hard, trying to push back all the memories flooding his mind. Why now? Why did he have to remember? He had been fine all these years, kind of. He was better off not knowing he had repressed memories of a fucking _clown_ trying to murder him! And those weren’t even the worsts memories. They weren’t. Shit.

“Are we really leaving?” A voice said. Richie screamed. The voice screamed too.

“What the fuck!” he jumped, looking at his side. “What are you doing here??”

‘You’ meaning Eddie. ‘Here’ meaning the passenger seat of his car. Question marks meaning I suddenly forgot you were a real person and not just something my head used to make up just to fuck with me.

“What am I doing here?? You told me to come! What the fuck is wrong with you? You scared the shit out of me, asshole!” Eddie replied in that tone, that hysteric, demanding, bickering tone Richie had heard directed at him so many times. Shit, the memories. Too many.

“I scared _you??_ You fucking came out of nowhere! You could try making some noise the next time!”

“How many times do you plan on leaving the town, dipshit?!”

“I mean next time you step in my car, _Sherlock_.” 

“How am I going to get in your car if we’re not in Derry? Do you plan on being my personal driver? I didn’t even remember you until hours ago. In fact… what if we leave and we suddenly forget each other and then I don’t know who you are and why I’m riding along with you? What if we crash and I’m badly injured but you can’t remember who I am so…”

“Can you, maybe, shut up??”

“You shut up!”

“Either you shut up or I shut you up!”

“Yeah, I’d like to see you try,” Eddie dared him and Richie closed his eyes, tightening his jaw because, well, it seemed like his mind would like that too. He’s so not ready to ride back home with Eddie Kaspbrak sitting right there next to him. Also, didn’t Eddie came in his own car? Why the hell did Richie had to tell him to come along? What was he thinking?

It just… felt right, asking Eddie to come, having him next to him, close. It really felt like they had continued to be friends for all those years they spent not remembering each other. That man, that face he wouldn’t have recognized the day before if he had crossed paths with him on the street, felt more like home than anywhere Richie had been before. And that was fucking scary.

“I need a drink,” Richie said, turning on the engine and starting to drive.

“We just came from the restaurant, I think you drank enough,” Eddie said. Richie shook his head in disagreement.

“Oh, no, my good fella. I’ll show you what enough looks like.”

Richie was ready to get hammered. He wanted to drink so much he actually thought everything that had happened at the restaurant was just a fever dream. Also, he could stop the memories from coming or, if he couldn’t stop them, he could at least slow them down.

Eddie didn’t say anything else for a while, he just looked out of the window while they drove across the city. Richie didn’t know where to go. For sure there had to be at least some bars, he could even handle a pub right now if it sold the right brand of whiskey. Every street they crossed through, Richie only saw himself as a kid riding his bike and being his usual asshole self, Bill, Stan, and Eddie tagging along. Richie kept driving. He kept driving. And then, they were leaving Derry.

“So…” Eddie spoke again, right when they took the dark driveway out, the kind of darkness where you can only see the pavement your car is lighting up. “Where are we going?”

“A bar,” Richie answered, although he was not so sure anymore. He intended to stop at a bar if he happened to find one.

“No, I mean. After,” Eddie asked again, and only then Richie turned his head to look at him. It was the first time he had looked at Eddie since he got in the car. He missed that face. How can you miss a face you’ve never seen before? Richie doesn’t understand it. He looks at Eddie and sees the man beside him, looks at his eyes, his eyebrows, his nose, his mouth, every little wrinkle showing concern, fear, doubt, even curiosity. He also sees the child behind him, hiding underneath the years, the experience, the shared trauma. He sees his best friend, laughing, joking, getting mad, fighting and laughing all over again. “Richie?”

“I don’t know.”

*

They do find a bar, a noisy place full of people a lot younger than them outside Bangor, tables are free because most people are dancing. Richie kind of hates them, or he hates the fact that those people, the rest of the world, would never know what they had to go through, what they’re asked to go through again, they’d just keep on with their lives, no matter what happens in the sewers. He wants to be part of them. He wants to be oblivious of what lives under their feet.

“Let’s party, Ed-o!” Richie raises his voice above the noise as they walk to the bar. He just orders the first thing that comes to mind and buys one for Eddie too. He remembers doing that a lot, not really asking Eddie if he wanted something but just getting it for him and asking later. He had learned Eddie had a lot of reservation when it came about making decisions, especially about things that weren’t so good for him (junk food, alcohol, smoking, drugs… hell, Richie was the worst influence ever), so Richie usually made that decision for Eddie first and then, if Eddie really didn’t want to, he wouldn’t insist (Eddie usually drew the line in smoking, mostly because the first time he took a drag he almost dies coughing).

“You think drinking is the best thing to do right now?” Eddie questions, twisting his mouth and wrinkling his nose at the drink before sipping at it

“Not drinking. Getting drunk!” Richie answers, finishing down his drink without even taste it. “I think getting drunk is definitely the best thing to do right now.”

It’s just an excuse, of course. It’s an excuse he’ll need when he has to justify why he let down his best friends and run away like a coward.

_They’re not. They’re not your best friends. You didn’t remember them. You never stayed in touch. You don’t belong here, not anymore, never did, in fact._

Richie can hear his inner fourteen-year-old screaming at him and telling him he’s such a loser along with some other more creative insults. He looks at Eddie sitting by his side and orders another drink. Getting drunk will help with that, too. Looking at Eddie.

“You alright?” Richie asks when he notices Eddie’s hands shaking. He was never a very calm kid, but Richie could understand if things were too much to handle for Eddie right now.

“Alright? Yeah. Of course. Fucking peachy. Sure, I’m alright. I’m great,” Eddie says sarcastically, his whole body twitching like he just can’t stay still, like he’s about to bolt any moment. Richie gets the feeling Eddie would keep rambling and actually say something useful about what’s going on in his head, but he just shuts up. Maybe he’s not comfortable enough around Richie to act like he used to. Richie understands. But it also fucking hurts.

The situation, the being friends but also strangers is fucking with Richie’s brain because he himself can’t let himself fully go and be like he used to be around Eddie, but somehow, something inside him expects Eddie to be the way he used to be around him. Except that’s not Eddie. That’s not the Eddie Richie used to know. That’s not his Eddie.

_Your Eddie?? Richie, what the fuck?_

Richie drinks up.

“So, Myrtle, huh?” Richie asks, looking at the bottom of his glass before looking up at Eddie.

“It’s Myra, asshole,” Eddie answers, shaking his head. “And yeah. Is it that hard to believe? That I could find someone who likes me and wants to marry me?”

“I didn’t say that!” Richie replies, hands up and a light chuckle. “I just, you know…” He thinks better than to crack a joke right there, but he almost bites his tongue not to let it come out. “I’m happy for you,” he says, and he really means it, or at least he thinks so. Why wouldn’t he? “So. How’s she like?”

Eddie looks at Richie like he wasn’t expecting that question. Richie looks at him too. Richie thinks is the first time they look into each other’s eyes since they left Derry. He doesn’t know why this feels so important but his stomach is churning and he just hopes he doesn’t throw up. What a waste of alcohol.

“She’s nice,” Eddie says, and he shrugs, and he drinks, and he looks away.

“Nice?” Richie raises a questioning eyebrow. “That doesn’t seem the best way to describe one’s wife. _Nice_. An audience that doesn’t laugh at your jokes but doesn’t throw drinks at you is nice.”

“And what do you know about what to say about one’s wife?” Eddie replied defensively. “How do you describe _your_ wife? Oh, wait!”

“You think that insults me? Like I find it somewhat a goal in life, getting married? Oh, yeah. Poor, poor Richie, he doesn’t experience the fulfillment of being tied to another person,” he deadpans.

“Some people like the feeling of belonging, you know?”

“Well, fuck me but, if I was your wife, I wouldn’t like the feeling of belonging with someone who thinks I’m just _nice,_” Richie says and, just like that, with a simple sentence, the atmosphere changes drastically and Richie can feel it sticking on his skin.

The silence doesn’t last that long, but it feels like ages. It’s not weird, what Richie said. How many times he’s started a sentence with ‘if I were you’ or ‘if I was she’, whatever, it’s not unusual, it shouldn’t feel so different saying ‘if I was your wife’ to Eddie. He didn’t even say the word ‘married’, he just said ‘wife’. Richie knows he wouldn’t be _a wife_.

It’s Eddie’s fault too. Eddie should have replied right away so Richie wouldn’t have time to feel this awkward. But Eddie is just there, not saying a word, looking like there’s a similar battle inside his head and Richie would kill to know what he’s thinking, but also he wouldn’t be caught dead asking himself.

Someone needs to talk. One of them needs to talk and better be Eddie because Richie is not sure how much more time he can hold himself from saying something stupid and fucking things up.

“She…” Eddie starts, looking at the glass in his hand. “I think she reminds me of my mom.” He looks up, his face showing concern but also something that feels like fear. “I never thought about it. I guess I didn’t… I guess I forgot.” Eddie blinks like he’s trying to understand. He looks at Richie again. “Is it the same for you? Am I the only one who can’t stop memories from coming back? It’s like they’re flooding my mind and… and at this point I’m terrified of what’s to come!”

“Yeah, man. I’m… Yeah, the same,” Richie nods, shifting a little uncomfortably in his seat and wondering if he should order another drink. Terrified, that’s a nice word. Terrified of his own memories, of Eddie’s memories too.

“I was looking out the window while we were driving across Derry and the memories were just… _coming and coming and coming in_. I couldn’t even tell if they were real! I don’t know if they really happened or… I mean, was it something I lived? Was it something I thought? Was it something I wanted to happen but never did?” Eddie says, moving his hands on the table, touching his drink, tapping his fingers nervously, letting out a quick chuckle and shaking his head, not looking at Richie the whole time. “It was already hard coming here just knowing the basics. It was like my body didn’t want to come. And also my mind didn’t want to come either. But there was something else inside me pulling me and saying it was the right thing to do! But I also crashed my car when Mike called! How is that any good sign? How is it any good?? And the memories keep coming back and it’s too overwhelming and I feel like I’m going to have an asthma attack! Do you know how long it was since the last asthma attack I had? Do you know how old I was?!”

“Eddie, you don’t have asthma,” Richie points out, and it’s like that’s enough to throw Eddie into a bigger fit.

“You don’t think I know that?!” Eddie exclaims, hands in the air. “That’s the worst part. I know I don’t have asthma! I know now, at least. Because it seems I also forgot _that_. But now I remembered. And the information is absolutely _worthless!”_

“Come on, don’t say that. I’m in those memories, Eds,” Richie jokes and only gets a dirty look in response. “I’m just saying, we had good times too. Except for… you know, almost being murdered and everything.”

“I know…” Eddie nods and sighs, drinking up and closing his eyes. “When we passed the Aladin or the arcade, so many memories came in, good ones. And that bothers me too, because fuck, Rich, we had a good childhood. And not because things were easy, things were awful, school and teachers and parents and bullies. But we had a good thing because we had a good friendship. And it fucks me up I didn’t remember you guys until Mike called and also, I hate that thing turned all those good memories into nightmares.”

“Not all of them,” Richie shakes his head. “Hey, remember when we covered Bowers and the rest in coke and popcorn,” he says, making Eddie smile a little.

“I’ve never run so fast in my life. I don’t think if that counts as a good memory.”

“But we laughed! Okay, what about when Ben got the SNES for his birthday and brought it to the hideout and we tried to make it work with car batteries.”

“We were so stupid,” Eddie laughs this time, and Richie feels his chest full with joy. Such little things he needs. “I remember when he built it. Damn good he was, but it felt like it would fall on top of our heads anytime.”

“You say that like you didn’t jump on the hammock every time we went there,” Richie teases with half a smile.

“I would, but you always hogged it. It was literally impossible to use it, your ass was always there.”

“Like that ever stopped you,” Richie replies. “I think I still have marks from all the times you stepped on me. I mean, I know I was sexy back then, Eds, but you were just _eager_,” he jokes.

“So sexy,” Eddie says sarcastically. “Can’t say what was more appealing, your fashion, your hair, or your glasses.”

“None of that mattered to you, you just wanted my bod,” Richie replies, actually touching his chest and making a face that makes Eddie almost spit his drink.

They stay in silence for a matter of seconds, Richie waiting for Eddie to say something else and Eddie just… staring at his drink. It starts feeling heavy when Eddie looks back at Richie with a questioning look.

“Do you think…?” He starts asking but he stops. Richie swallows and feels the cold sweat run down his spine.

“Don’t sweat it. I was joking. Obviously,” he says before Eddie asks anything inappropriate, anything that could make Richie sweat even more profusely.

“Was I in love with you?” Eddie asks, like the possibility of it, the realization has just hit him. Well, fuck.

“What??! _No!!” _Richie quickly responds, faking such a loud laugh he actually ends up coughing. He takes a big gulp at his drink and wonders if that was the worst acting the world has ever seen. At least his hands are not shaking. Not much. But Eddie is still looking at him, a questioning look. No. A demanding look. “I mean… not that you ever said anything. I don’t think… You would have said something. Right?”

“Not really. I don’t know! Why do you think I’m asking you? I wouldn’t need to ask you if I knew but I don’t know and it doesn’t really feel like Derry was the best place to feel things for another guy when we were kids or even fucking now. This town was always full of shitheads and we were picked on a lot already and I also was terrified of AIDS…”

“You were terrified of everything,” Richie muttered, not really interrupting Eddie’s rambling.

“But I do feel like there was something else because my memories, they’re fucking with me hard, and something feels off when I remember us, like there’s something else I should know or something I knew but now I don’t, and maybe it’s just that I never had a friend like you after I left and forgot what a friendship like that felt like because, fuck, Rich, you were my best friend! Like, pain inside my chest when I think about it. But then again, the rest of the guys were my friends too and I loved them to death… I think I still do! But it feels nothing compared to you and also… I…” Eddie stops to blink (and also to breathe, Richie doesn’t know how he’s still alive) and then he swallows, looking down for a second before looking back at Richie. His face has changed a little. The questioning look is still there, but now the color in his cheeks makes it feel like a whole different thing. “I just remembered… a kiss?”

“_Oh,_” Richie, on the other hand, is pale.

Richie remembers that kiss, of course he fucking remembers. He didn’t think Eddie would, not because of the whole not remembering things but because he didn’t think Eddie cared at all even back then to even register it in his brain.

It was stupid. They were down the Barrens, as usual, they had defeated It already maybe a year or two ago. It was one of those times when you don’t really feel like a kid anymore but the whole world tells you differently. It was winter so they were hanging out in the hideout Ben built. They did that a lot. It felt safe, somehow. Only this time there was no one else there. When Richie climbed down the stairs, the place was empty. He doesn’t remember thinking anything and just putting on his headphones and grabbing a comic book to pass the time lying on the hammock.

Minutes went by, maybe hours, Richie wouldn’t know. He didn’t notice anyone coming down too but then again, Richie didn’t really pay attention to his surroundings. Thinking back, he probably should, he should be alert and even anxious after something like It had happened, but maybe even in Derry they had started to forget already.

Richie felt a rough push on his shoulder, jumped and took off his headphones. A very pissed Eddie was looking at him.

“I said move. I want in,” Eddie demanded so firmly Richie was ready to just leave the hammock. When he started to step out, Eddie grabbed his wrist, not really looking at him, but hard enough for Richie to stop. “Just… make room.”

“Huh?” Richie made a dumb face. He’s pretty sure he made a stupid dumb face.

“I want cuddles, okay?” Eddie said in a rush, but his tone was still demanding, even sounded like a scolding somehow.

“_What?_” Richie asked because what the fuck did Eddie say? It was, apparently, the wrong thing to do. Eddie frowned and just climbed on top of him.

“What’s wrong with you? Are you not just dumb but also deaf? Make room!” He said, the hammock swaying back and forth while they tried to fit together in there.

Eddie plastered himself to Richie’s side, actually grabbing Richie’s arm and positioning it the right way so he could use it as a pillow, throwing an arm around Richie’s waist before closing his eyes. Richie just stood there, eyes wide open to the ceiling, the music still blasting from the headphones hanging from his neck, the comic book on the floor where it fell when Richie dropped it. Right at that moment Richie only hoped for the music to be loud enough for Eddie not to hear his crazy heartbeats.

Richie only managed to gather the courage to look at Eddie after a few minutes later, maybe more than a few. No matter how many times he had seen Eddie that close (and he had seen him a lot of times), Richie wasn’t able to control his own body, his heart, his blood pressure, his body heat. He closed his eyes before slowly moving his head and looking at Eddie.

He still looked mad. Eddie always looked mad, even when his face should have been relaxed, there was always that frown wrinkling his forehead, his lips pursed, pressed together like he was holding his rant (not for long, never for long). Richie found himself smiling like the fool he was, wanting to cuddle Eddie back or maybe just touch his face or maybe kiss his cheek. He couldn’t. As a joke, sure, he could fucking make out with Eddie as a joke, but right there he was frozen.

“What?” Eddie asked, not even opening his eyes.

“What? What did I do now?”

“I can feel you watching. What is it?”

“It’s just that your face is so pretty, Eddie-bear,” Richie joked and laughed, and Eddie punched him.

“Fuck you. Just say it already!” Eddie insisted, and he still didn’t open his eyes. There was something, something in his voice or maybe on his face, and Richie thought what if Eddie knew and he wanted to… No. Nooononono.

“Just! Nothing! Just wondering what was wrong,” Richie said, and it was not a lie but not the whole truth. It was good, it was enough. Only… “Should I talk to your mom? I can be pretty convincing in bed,” he added because he never learned how to actually keep his mouth shut when it mattered. Eddie opened his eyes then, looking at Richie like he just insulted him (which he kinda did).

“Could you not? Please. No mom jokes. Not now. I…” Eddie closed his eyes again and his voice choked when he muttered again, “please,” and Richie felt like shit and hugged Eddie closer, not even thinking about it.

“Sorry,” he said, moving to his side so he could face Eddie even if Eddie wasn’t looking at him anymore. Richie was a lot taller than Eddie now, so Eddie’s head was just at the perfect level for Richie to kiss his forehead. So. He did.

For a moment he thought Eddie would get crazy, would jump and curse and tell him about how gross kisses were and bacteria and disease and how Richie’s trash mouth was like the worst place ever to have contact with. But Eddie didn’t say a word, he didn’t even move. He just sighed, hard, and Richie felt him melt a little in his arms.

“Eddie,” Richie called, softly, low. “What happened?”

“Don’t wanna talk about it. It doesn’t matter,” Eddie grunted, and Richie tried not to shiver when he felt the words warm in the crook of his neck. But then he felt something else.

“Eddie. Are you…?” Richie looked down. “Are you crying?”

“Just shut up! Can you just fucking hug me?” Eddie snapped, crying harder. So Richie did what he had to do and hugged Eddie tight, covering his body with both of his arms and also a leg.

“I’m sorry!” Richie apologized, kissing Eddie’s head again and feeling him shake in his arms. “I’m sorry, Eds. I’m sorry.”

“What the fuck are you sorry for? You did nothing wrong,” Eddie replied against Richie’s chest, still crying, still hugging him.

“I know. I mean… I don’t know. I just,” Richie looked down, trying to catch a glimpse of Eddie’s face. “Can you tell me what to do? I don’t know what to do and I just want you to stop crying, please just stop crying.”

“I can’t help it!” Eddie looked back up, angry, his cheeks red, his eyes watery and his lips puffed. “You think I do this on purpose? You think I just _love_ crying? My head hurts and my eyes hurt and my nose is stuffy and I hate it!”

Eddie kept rambling, talking about how he couldn’t help to cry and how once the water had gathered inside he had to let it flow or else he could die, like drowned from the inside out. Richie just kept looking at him, touching Eddie’s cheek to wipe off some tears as he was still talking, not even noticing Richie’s touch. He felt his chest tightening as his heart started beating hard, like his body knew before Richie knew, like it was getting ready before Richie’s brain clicked and made him just lean in, catching Eddie’s lips on his.

Just a touch. Not even a kiss, it was just a touch. And Eddie’s eyes went wide and his tears just stopped.

“Richie what the fuck,” Eddie whispered.

“I just…” He couldn’t explain it. He just couldn’t. So he licked his lips and kissed Eddie again, this time for real.

That was the first thing Richie remembered when he walked into the restaurant and saw Eddie. That kiss. The body heat, the hands grabbing clothes, the soft touch of their lips and the sweet inside Eddie’s mouth, the love he felt pouring out and how he thought he could just die right there and he would feel like it was a life worth living.

“Can’t breathe,” Eddie said after a while, breaking the kiss to catch some air. He looked up at Richie, his eyes questioning things Richie didn’t have the answer for.

“See? You stopped crying,” Richie said, and he laughed. He laughed hard and Eddie looked at him like he was crazy.

“Did you really… do that just to…?”

“It worked, right?” Richie asked with a huge smile. He just wanted Eddie to laugh too, not to judge him, not to think further, not to… figure it out. Laugh. Just laugh.

“You’re fucking crazy,” Eddie finally said, rolling his eyes. It felt part of the joke, somehow. But it also didn’t. And right when Eddie stepped out of the hammock and Richie reached for him, Bev and Stan came down the stairs and the opportunity was gone. They never talked about it again.

Until.

Well, until now.

“You do remember too, right?” Eddie asks. Richie blinks away from his thoughts and looks at his drink. Empty. Great.

“Yeah, I do,” Richie nods, raising his hand to call for another drink, but Eddie stops him, holding his wrist.

“Dude, just stop it for a second, okay? I don’t need you hammered right now. I need you to… tell me what was going on.”

“Nothing was going on, Eddie! We were friends, that’s all. We were all friends. And I just did stupid shit all the time!”

“So nothing else happened…” Eddie says, like the memories are right there now, confirming what he thought.

“Of course nothing else happened,” Richie laughs, fake and loud. Eddie smiles too, looking down at his hands.

“Yeah, you’re right,” he nods. “I remember now,” he presses his temple, holding his head and sighing. “I just got confused. I think I mixed up reality and dreams or something. Shit.”

“Mixed up like what? What do you mean?”

“Nothing, I just had a really vivid memory of us…” And the Eddie really laughed, shaking his head when the color started pooling on his cheeks. “Well, it seems I really was, uh. I really was in love with you, who would have thought, huh?” Eddie rushes, raising his own hand now to call for another drink.

Richie blinks.

Then he swallows.

“Nah, you weren’t,” he shakes his head. No. Impossible.

“I’m pretty sure I was,” Eddie replies, asking for another drink, a stronger one. Richie orders the same.

“No. Trust me. You weren’t,” he insists. Eddie frowns.

“I’m telling you I was, Richie.”

“And I’m telling you that’s impossible!”

“What the fuck would you know? If I said I was in love with you, then I was in fucking love with you, Richie! What’s the problem? And you don’t get to freak out now, it was like a million years ago and you already broke my heart, so don’t even think about―”

Richie probably should know better than to kiss another man in the middle of a bar where he doesn’t know anybody, doesn’t know if they could get beaten, doesn’t know if it would start a riot. He probably should know better than to kiss a married man, a man he hasn’t seen in years and who’s probably very much in love with his wife, no matter how much she looks like his own mother. Richie probably should know better than to kiss Eddie Kaspbrack, ball of fire, hypochondriac, hyperactive, unpredictable, best friend, first love, whole world.

Richie doesn’t know shit, maybe except for just one thing. He loves Eddie. He’s in love with that tiny motherfucker. He wants to kiss him and find out if he tastes the same and learn what has changed. And also, probably the most important thing, Eddie wants it too. He’s not pulling back, he’s kissing back, he’s holding Richie’s cheek. Eddie wants it too.

“You shouldn’t be doing this,” Richie says because he’s fucking stupid, but thank god he’s the only one and Eddie just steps up, leaves a couple of bills on the table and drags Richie out of the bar.

“Don’t tell me what I should do,” Eddie replies, and Richie doesn’t see or feel anything else apart from Eddie’s face, Eddie’s hand on his, Eddie’s body pulling at him.

He doesn’t know where they are. Are they back at the hotel? Are they somewhere else? Did Richie drive back to his house? Did he take Eddie with him? Is Eddie staying? Is he staying forever? Forever.

“Work with me here, Richie,” Eddie demands and Richie feels his hands working on clothes, unbuttoning, pulling up, taking off. “I swear to god, Richie, if you don’t…”

Richie kisses him hard, using his whole body, his height, his strength, to pin Eddie against the nearest wall and push him up, make him tangle his legs around Richie’s hips.

“Eddie. Eddie, I love you,” Richie confesses. Eddie nods. He knows. He knows, right? Did he knew?

“Richie,” Eddie calls. Richie touches his cheek, his hand over the dirty bandage. “I need to tell you something.”

“What is it, baby?” Baby. Baby? Buddy.

<strike>I fucked your mom.</strike>

“I love you.”

“Yes,” Richie nods, he nods, and kisses Eddie again. He feels so happy, so full. “I love you so much,” he says again and he kisses again but now he can taste the salt of his own tears.

“Don’t cry, Richie,” Eddie says, but Richie can’t help it. “I knew.”

“Did you? _Did you?_” Richie asks and he keeps holding Eddie up, pressing his chest with both of his hands but the blood keeps coming out. “I should have stayed with you. I should have…”

“Don’t you dare. I didn’t save you for you to die with me.”

“But, Eddie…”

“I love you.”

“I love you too, Eddie. I love you.”

“Richie.”

“What, what is it?”

“Richie.”

Richie.

_Richie._

“Hey, Richie! Ten minutes, man!”

“What. Yes!” Richie jumps out, his whole body feeling like jelly and his heart beating so fast it feels like it could run out of his body. He’s sweating, his clothes damp. He sits up on the couch and takes a deep breath. These nightmares... He’s not sure he’ll be able to handle them much longer.

It’s been almost a year now. It still feels like yesterday. The nightmares change, but they always end up the same way. Eddie dies. No matter how, no matter what, no matter if Richie confesses, if he doesn’t, if Eddie loves him back, if Eddie doesn’t. There’s no way Richie can save him. He just can’t. He can’t turn back time.

“Whiskey?” Some intern offers him a glass. They know. They all know. Richie takes it and drinks it up.

When he walks to the stage the host is already saying his name. The one and only Richie Tozier. One and only. One and lonely.

“So I found out I was in love with my best friend. Bummer, yeah. Especially because not only he was my best friend. Also he was married. And also, he died.” Some people laughed, but that kind of laugh you’re not sure if you should be laughing. “I know, I know, so dark. But hear me out. Knowing him, I bet he died just so he wouldn’t have to deal with me being in love with him. Like, oh my, Richie Tozier wants my ass?? Uh-oh, I better just fucking die.” More people laughed at that and Richie smiled too. “What he doesn’t know is I’m fucking persistent. Like, do you really think I won’t just follow you head first, man? You don’t fucking know me. I’m already converting to every possible religion just in case we don’t go to the same heaven. Or hell, I mean, I don’t judge, I can get a little kinky too sometimes.”

People laugh. People applaud. People cheer. The one and only Richie Tozier.

The thing with Richie was he was already fed up with his daily life bullshit to deal with anything else. He still was a successful comedian, and his life out of the stage had become incredibly depressing. He still enjoyed being on stage, but now even that wouldn’t help to make his mind shut up. Nothing is loud enough for Richie to stop thinking. The money, well… let’s say alcohol or even cocaine wasn’t enough anymore.

“Nice show, Richie! You were great!”

“There’s a bottle of the finest Scotch waiting for you in your room, Tozier, you earned it.”

“Told the service to get a bubble bath ready for you. Sure you don’t want something else? I know a few cute girls who wouldn’t mind sharing. Cute boys too.”

“It’s fine, it’s fine, thank you,” Richie said, avoiding every meaningless conversation and walking up straight too his room.

He grabs the Scotch and walks to the bathroom, not even bothering to bring a glass. The bathtub is full and the water is warm. Richie takes off his clothes and slides in, letting out a deep sigh when he finally allows his body to relax. He drinks straight from the bottle, feeling the liquid burning his throat. He grabs the neck and crashes the glass against the side of the bathtub. The smell of alcohol fills the air. He wonders what the papers will say.

He talks about it every night and day on stage, so why bother with a letter. The rest are happy, and he wants happiness too. He knows he will be found with a smile on his face. After all, Stan always knew best.


End file.
